


Got Things To Do

by TheFalconWarrior



Series: Life is a Rollercoaster (A Big, Twisty One) [29]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, I'm not sure how to tag this one tbh, Tim's coffee dependence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFalconWarrior/pseuds/TheFalconWarrior
Summary: It's not like Tim particularly WANTS to be awake.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Life is a Rollercoaster (A Big, Twisty One) [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1410376
Comments: 15
Kudos: 156





	Got Things To Do

**Author's Note:**

> The sleep-deprived Tim thing is funny sometimes yeah but passing out from exhaustion is an actual thing and it really STINKS.  
> This ones a bit meh. Three guesses why.  
> Am I posting it anyways?  
> ...yes. Because it will haunt my mind until I do.

There was nobody in the kitchen when Tim went down for a cup of coffee, so he had absolutely no qualms about collapsing onto a barstool in the most dramatic way possible and letting out a long-drawn groan as he buried his head into his arms. 

Three weeks. Three _fricking_ weeks that he hadn’t slept for more than three hours straight and Tim was just. 

Tim was so, so tired. 

His eyes were dry and stinging, and his head hurt and felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton when it wasn’t actively _pulsing_ and at this point the coffee wasn’t even helping anymore. 

Wayne Enterprises. Red Robin. Gotham U. Finals week was bad enough in a good month but Red Robin had a drugs case he couldn’t afford to let slip through the cracks and God knows he had to keep on top of _everything_ at WE if he wanted his teenaged CEO self to be taken anything near seriously. 

So between homework and final projects, casework and paperwork and meetings and commute and even with Nightwing taking Red Robin’s usual patrol and Red Hood working the drugs case with him there just _weren’t enough hours_ in the day to get everything done. He knew his current exhaustion wasn’t doing him any favors, either, making him unfocused, making everything take just a little longer than it should and, in that tangled way, only making the whole thing worse but. What else was he supposed to do? 

He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep for _hours_. He really, really did. _But there wasn’t enough time_. 

And of course, because Tim’s brain cannot be kind in this regard, even when he’d _finally_ finished his allotted work for the day and gotten to bed, looking forward to three solid hours of sleep—maybe it was all the caffeine, maybe it was just another effect of his _goddamned anxiety_ but he spent half that time staring desperately at the ceiling, mind still running through numbers or research arguments or case connections—and when his alarm went off and it felt like he’d _literally just fallen asleep_ , it was because he actually did. Just fall asleep. 

And every accidental hour of sleep in the middle of working—every extra few minutes needed for one project or the other—only served to add to the pit in his stomach and the nausea climbing up his throat. 

Speaking of which. He was wasting time. 

He lifted his head out of his arms and glared at the cup of coffee. Sure, it certainly seemed to be keeping him _awake_ , but it did nothing for his exhaustion—nothing to fight the downwards pull of his eyelids, the constant dull _fuzz_ behind his eyeballs, the way he had a dizzy spell whenever he stood up or how he managed to walk into walls that he could usually navigate around asleep or literally zoned out in the middle of conversations. 

Tim was _tired_. 

“’Sup, Replacement?” 

Tim couldn’t bring himself to muster up more than a grunt as he reached for his coffee. His fingers were shaking. Barely enough to notice, but. Well. He wrapped both hands around the mug and pressed his fingers still against the hot ceramic. 

Jason snorted. “Oof, I’m _sorry_ , didn’t realize you hadn’t had your coffee yet.” 

“You’re weirdly chipper,” Tim muttered into his coffee. “Aren’t you always on Dick’s back about being so chipper?” 

“I can do what I want,” Jason said, which was not an answer and barely made sense but Tim didn’t care. A whistle. “Jesus, you good? Your eye bags have bags.” 

Annnnd there it was. Tim knew what came next. Go to sleep, Tim. Don’t drink so much coffee, Tim. Real helpful. Go to sleep, Tim, you can do it later. Now _that_ one was an outright _lie_. 

He looked up from his coffee to glare at his older brother, and was a bit disconcerted to find _two_ blurry figures leaning over the island. Damn. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ve been busy. Sue me.” 

Jason hummed. “Sure. You actually mean to be glaring at the squirrels out the window?” 

Tim blinked and squinted, and sure enough the two Jasons kinda-resolved into almost-one Jason a few inches off from where Tim had thought he would be. 

“Damn,” Tim muttered. “I was sure that was the real one.” 

“When’s the last time you slept?” he sounded more curious than concerned. 

Tim shrugged. He’d slept. Just not for long. 

“Huh. Just so you know, you look half dead.” 

“Do I?” 

“How are you even awake right now?” 

“Do you think I want to be?” 

“Just go to sleep, kid.” 

“Too much stuff to do.” 

He should get up and go. He’d given himself fifteen minutes for this coffee break and sitting here arguing with Jason was just wasting precious time. 

“Morning.” Annnnd there was the other one. 

“Mornin’ Goldie.” Jason stepped away from the island. 

“Morning,” Tim echoed, lifting his cup to take a gulp of coffee before he hightailed it out of there. 

“You good there, Timmy?” Sometimes Tim wished Dick could be just a little slower to catch on. 

Tim leaned his head against his hand and grinned half-heartedly. “’M fine.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow. 

Tim sighed and let his head fall to the table, pillowing it in his arms. “Just tired.” And because it was apparently obvious so there was not any reason not to, he added, “So, _so_ tired,” and didn’t really care that it came out as a whine. 

Of course it was Dick who put his hands under Tim’s arms and pulled him up. “Alright, we’re getting you in a bed.” 

“Can’t. I’ve got things--” Tim swayed as the world swam and he could feel the blood rushing to his head and-- 

He blinked. His face was pressed against something—someone? Someone. Likely, he realized, the someone who had their arms wrapped around him and was currently holding all his weight. 

“Tim?” 

He tilted his head back and was instantly met by Dick’s worried eyes. 

“Yeah, no,” Dick said, and then he had an arm at the back of Tim’s knees and Tim was being lifted off the ground. “That’s it.” 

Tim wished. “I _can’t_. Got... _so_ much...stuff. To do.” WE, Gotham U, Red Robin, and he knew there was a hell of a lot of stuff but he couldn’t remember what was now and what was later but-- 

Dick was already moving, out the kitchen. “We’ll handle it.” 

“ _How_? It’s _my_ work--” 

“Tim,” Dick said, stern now. “ _We’ll handle it."_

Tim shook his head. He didn’t want to fight Dick—he wanted nothing more than to give in to the _sweet mindless release of sleep_ —but he could _feel_ his chest tightening and his teeth clenching together because he needed to _get everything done_ and-- 

“Is there anything that needs to be finished _right_ now?” Dick interrupted, and Tim stopped to think. 

“Not til the end of the week,” he admitted grudgingly. “But if I don’t get it done _now--”_

“I’ll talk to Bruce,” Dick interrupted again. Rude. “Between him and Lucius and Tiffany I’m sure they can handle WE for a bit. You need a break, kiddo.” 

“Don’t worry about the case, either,” Jason jumped in from somewhere behind them. “I’ll hack your files. Or get Babs to. If I really need help I’ll drag in Dickhead here.” 

Tim frowned. He appreciated it, he did, but-- “But Dick’s taking my patrol route.” 

Dick huffed a laugh and gently knocked his forehead against Tim’s. “’s not like I’m not used to patrolling a whole city myself, Timmy. I’ll be fine.” 

“Also, notice I said _if_. That’s a big _if_.” 

Tim huffed. “I resent the implication that you were only working with me to humor me.” Dick laughed. 

“Hell,” Jason went on, “If you’ve got papers or something I’ll even write them for ya, if you want me to. Or need it.” 

“We’ll handle it, Timmy,” Dick repeated, and Tim. 

They’d...covered most the bases. True, Lucius and Tiffany themselves were more than capable of handling WE themselves, and if Dick really did talk to Bruce he’d probably be able to get the work Tim was currently busy with done in time. Tim wasn’t patrolling—Dick had already taken over once Tim’s college work had seemed to mushroom—and if Jason had the drugs case handled, with Dick as backup, then all Tim had to worry about was college. And not even all that, if Jason was serious about writing for him. 

Did he feel bad about it? Yes. He wasn’t the only one with a busy schedule, he knew. Was he still crazy anxious that _he_ should be able to do his own work, that he should be helping Jason with the case he’d been on since the beginning, that something somewhere would go wrong because Tim was giving in? Yes. 

But the last few weeks had been hell between the exhaustion and his anxiety and he was _tired._ And he could trust Dick and Jason. He could trust his brothers. 

And that brought an almost overwhelming sense of _relief_ , that maybe from here it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He realized, hazily, that his head had long since settled heavily against Dick’s shoulder, forehead bumping the man’s chin. But now he let his eyes slip shut, too. If he couldn’t open them right after...that was okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of useless facts:  
> 1\. One of the upsides of college from quarantine (ignoring the fact that all my professors pushing every. single. midterm to the exact same week two weeks before classes end did not HELP, it didn’t), is that I’m not walking into walls or falling asleep while driving and napping BETWEEN classes instead of IN classes and I’ve got two extra hours in the day that used to be my commute.  
> 2\. Trying to think while having a dehydration headache makes you very near throw up. Seriously.  
> Also, I would like to sincerely apologize to Tim Drake after I jinxed myself with the existential crisis thing last time. Sorry for writing a rant in the notes I know I am very tired and I am being dramatic.


End file.
